Three weeks after his injury, Allen was almost up to full speed. He still wore the cast on his hand but the pain was mostly gone. He was almost done with the ankle brace as well. The only pain that persisted was in his ribs at certain times—trying to get comfortable when he had to sleep on the ground or when his breathing got too labored. Surprisingly, the worst pain came when he bent to change his socks. He pushed himself and got up to his target speed of three point one miles per hour for a few minutes at a time. As he watched the cars pass he thought, I’m going to see these same cars later today, but I’ll be going the opposite direction. Miraculously, Allen was still on schedule. Approaching Vegas he spent two or three extra hours on the road each day. His pace picked up little by little and he shaved some time off the walk each day. The way he saw it, he didn’t have any other choice. Not only did he have a goal to be back in Detroit by September 30, he needed to keep his hotel reservations. Rescheduling each hotel along the route would take too much work. Not to mention the packages of MREs and other supplies that would be delivered along the way. He had put too much preparation into the trip to be knocked off course.
